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VACATION 

INPpESSIQNS 



C. ARTHUR 



LONGWELL 

AUGUST, 1902 



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'" Ti$ pleasant ySiire, to see one's name in print; 
A book's a book^although there's nothingin't." 



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Copyright 1902 

By C. A. LONGWELL 

New York 



Dedication 



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" Is he my friend who loves me ? He may yet not 
understand me. Is he my friend who understands 
me ? He may yet not love me. But who understands 
me because he loves me, who loves me because he 
understands me — he verily is my friend." 



To such friends as these Hvho stayed at home, or found their 

recreation in other directions through the summer, 

this little book is dedicated. 



' There I will choose some eyrie in the hills, 
Where I may buiid, like a lonely bird, 
And catch the whispered music heard 

Out of the noise of human ills." 



c 



7 
c/lugusi Vacation days are mine ! :: :: 

Sixteenth With much of the feeling the 
small school boy has when the last 
lessons of summer have been said, but with mind 
too tired to direct and muscles less inclined to exe- 
cute the frolics that usually follow his dismissal, I am 
comfortably esconced on the steamer, " North Star," 
of the Maine Steamship Line, with Portland as my 
first destination. 

The usual scurrying around of passengers, as 
though this were to be the all-important event of 
their lives, and each must be first to have his wants 
supplied, marked the first hour of our departure. 
But now finding there is provision for all, our ship's 
company has settled down to the lull that follows a 
stormy departure. 

How seriously we Americans take our pleasures. 
We rush to the theatres and down the aisles, casting 
off wraps on the way, as though it were the first and 
likely to be the last play we shall ever see. We 
hurry to trains and boats and with unseemly impet- 
uosity dive into crowds at risk of life or limb, and 
to receive what ? Perhaps a seat that is cast aside 
ten minutes after we are on board. 



" Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise 
My footstool earth, my canopy the skies." 



8 

The man who trails along afterward usually 
gets a friendly nod from porters and pursers and 
the best accommodations as a "reward of merit" 
for his calm behavior and his trust in those who are 
expected to provide for his comfort — especially if a 
coin occasionally sees the light of day. 

The new steel wonder in process of construction 
over East River has been passed. Hell Gate, with 
its treacherous rocks has been safely threaded and 
we are out on the undulating swell of Long Island 
Sound. The sun hangs low in the sky with every 
promise of giving us a picture at setting, the charm 
of which never seems to grow old. 

Too far now on our way to be recalled and no 
communication with land until to-morrow afternoon, 
we settle down to freedom from business cares, the 
final click of the roll-top desk still sounding like 
music to the ear in the knowledge that it is not to be 
opened for two whole weeks. 

The boat is well equipped and new, having 
been placed in commission last season. Her service 
is neatly attired and courteous. Our company 
seems made up of men and women gentle born, 
.so to deck I hie me with a book — the never failing 
friend of man — to beguile away the hours. 




9 

Two thirty A. M., but ere I seek my berth to 
be rocked in the cradle of the deep, I must record 
two real luxuries — a glorious sun-set followed almost 
immediately by a moon so calm and restful as to put 
our entire company in sentimental groups over the 
decks. 

At an early hour our elders disappeared one by 
one leaving the younger element to enjoy the moon 
in interesting groups of twos and fours. 

Long after everyone had sought the seclusion 
that the cabin grants, I sat alone and drank in the 
beauties of night. The ship's lights out, except 
those prescribed by marine law, we have churned 
along with measured stroke and no sound save the 
cutting of the water and noise of engine and pro- 
pellers. Now too, I say ' ' good night " and go to sleep 
in anticipation of a pleasant to-morrow. 



" The deep of night is crept upon our talk, 
And nature must obey necessity." 



Sunday The piercing light of the sun sifting 

cNsghi through the shutters of the state- 

room window told of another day, 
and though drowsy with sleep from the night's 
vigils, it seemed wicked to idle away a sun-lit 
morning, so I arose to find our ship out of sight 
of land, on a gently undulating sea, a firm breeze — 
mainly from the ship's impetus — while the sun 
covered the broad expanse in bright flashes of light. 

Every one seemed to be in good humor and as 
the ship's bell told off the hours and the heat of the 
day increased, the passengers grouped themselves 
on the broad upper deck in various attitudes repre- 
senting a genuine abandon to the day's sail. 

While in this semi-somnolent state, the sharp 
short blowing of the whistle brought every one to 
his feet and to the vessel's star-board side in time 
to see a huge whale, not over three hundred yards 
away, give us a glimpse of his monstrous brown 
back and then plunge to the depths of the sea, 
lashing the water into a foam with his tail as he 
descended. Our eyes then on the alert, were further 
rewarded by the spoutings of several of these deni- 
zens of the deep. 




II 

An hour later we were again summoned, this 
time to the port side, to see, not more than a hun- 
dred yards away, another of these monsters, who 
seemed to lift his body above the surface of the sea, 
then roll to one side, disclosing to our view a por- 
tion of his head and nearly the entire length of his 
huge body. Quickly realizing that he was gazing 
upon no friendly companion of the deep, he plunged 
below, flinging out his colossal tail and churning the 
water as he went. 

At three in the afternoon we entered the beauti- 
ful harbor of Portland, with its rocks, its islands 
and light-houses standing out in picturesque relief, 
and after some delay in docking, our company was 
quickly disbanded, each to carry out some vacation 
plan, for every one seemed on pleasure bent. 

Baggage having been checked through, I had 
only to saunter leisurely around to the Falmouth 
Hotel — a hostelry quite famous in the history of 
Maine, and having the name by which the town 
of Portland was once known. On registering, 
the genial clerk told me that a trolley-ride on the 
belt line would prove an innocent diversion for 
what remained of the Sabbath afternoon, in this 



" Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
The moon takes up the wondrous tale." 



puritanical and prohibition town, and in the even- 
ing, especially with the promise of a moon on 
the harbor, a boat trip to Peak's Island — there to 
hear a concert, would rob the hours of a heaviness 
that one feels while " waiting in transit." 

Both of these suggestions were carried out in 
timely precision, in ample enjoyment and with a 
later earnest of my appreciation of the clerk's 
prowess as a promoter of pastimes — in the shape 
of a "night -cap" taken with him behind closed 
doors, the laws of the city making us feel like 
murderers, who might be pounced down upon at 
any moment by a bailiff in ruff and high cocked hat. 



13 
c4ttgust Eight thirty A. M. and we are leav- 

Eighteenth ing the quaint old city of Portland 
under conditions most inviting-. 
A glorious morning, cold with bracing air, the 
sky a perfect canopy of blue, except here and there 
a fleecy cloud shifting lazily in heaven's dome to 
convince us that it is really sky we are seeing, and 
not the vast dome of a cathedral. Under and over 
all the rich, warm sun filters its light and on every 
face about me there rests the smile of content for 
the hour and hopeful anticipation for the day. 

We cross sundry railroad tracks — around the 
edge of the old town — raising an imaginary skirt 
over the usual mundane conditions that encompass 
every city, and almost without warning we are 
plunged into a panoramic glimpse of dense wood- 
land, fields of growing things, and green pastures 
enclosed within stone fences that seem to run up 
small hills, only to disappear in some forest be- 
yond. 

Now the train rounds a curve in the well bal- 
lasted road and a miniature lake — a pond, lies before 
us like a Florentine mirror in its irregular lines 
and with its fringe of ferns and under-brush that 



" By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals." 



14 
come to the water's edge, with an occasional pine 
tree that springs from the green underneath and 
spreads its severe layer-like top branches against 
the sky in relief beyond. 

Frequently I see reminders of the loving re- 
membrance in which the memory and influence of 
Longfellow are held by these sturdy New Englanders 
who were fortunate enough to have this grand 
character as a towns-man. Yea, and more: — as a kins- 
man. His old house in Portland is preserved with 
furniture intact, and is shown to tourists with marked 
manifestations of pride. At the intersection of two 
shaded streets, there stands a magnificent monument 
representing the poet in sitting posture holding in 
one hand a book and in the other a pencil. 

Just now the train stops at a small village and 
a canopied-top wagon stands there to take travelers 
to " Standish Cottage" — the driver having pre- 
sumably been dispatched as a John Alden by the 
timorous Miles who awaits at home the result of 
this interview, but with less sentiment perhaps 
than graced the anticipations of our soldier lover of 
the long ago. So has the commercial spirit invaded 
the land, and our sentiment is attacked as an easier 
entrance to our pocket books. 




15 

On we speed and the smaller garden-like beauty 
is giving way to the more rugged aspect of the 
landscape. The train is already, only an hour out, 
commencing to puff and blow with the labor of hill- 
climbing. Now occasionally we can look up and 
down as well as over the scene. Acres of tall pines 
stand like " Druids of Old " on hillside and hollow. 
One moment we fancy that only birds and animals 
are the inhabitants of these woods ; that if you 
were to see a skin-clad Indian crawl out from some 
ledge of rock, fitting a flint-tipped an*ow on the 
string of his bow, you would feel that his presence 
there was more natural than your own. The next, 
we dart across a well-traveled roadway indicating 
that there are people here, who live their lives, 
think their thoughts, and die their deaths in well- 
ordered harmony with nature — free from the bicker- 
ings, strife, and nervous excitement that wither 
the minds and bodies of the city multitude and 
send them "to that bourne " before their time. 

Small brooks steal out from leafy under-brush 
and dance away under the track, the glint of sun- 
light flashing up crystals as the water leaps over 
the rocks. 



" A sudden little river crossed my path 

As unexpected as a serpent comes '' 



i6 

And now we have a more pretentions stream, 
in which I strongly suspect live the fleet -finned little 
fellows that have given Isaac Walton so many fol- 
lowers. 

This stream winds around a hill then widens 
into a small lake — a lake just large enough for two — 
and the allotment has evidently been made, for on 
the water's edge stands a bungalow while from a 
hammock a trailing bunch of white is indicative of 
the presence of woman. 

This garden , of Eden is not Adamless as he is 
waving his welcome from a canoe that floats idly 
near the shore. As the water here catches the 
reflection from the sky and is deepened in its color- 
ing by the green foliage of the adjacent hills, it 
reminds me of a huge sapphire, unusually brilliant 
under the sharp rays of the sun. 

An opening in the woods discloses a typical 
New England farm house with the tall flat chimney 
outlined against the end of the house — bespeaking 
the roaring winter's fire around which are seated 
the half circle of trusted faces — young and old, 
living in quiet content, and working out their de- 
pendency until the final summons that equalizes us 




17 

all, comes to take them hence. Whittier must have 
been writing of siich a house and its people in 
saying : 

' ' Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth, 

Sends up its smoky curl — 
Who will not thank this kindly earth, 

And bless the farmer girl ?" 

Glorious moment this ; " Unto the everlasting 
hills do I lift mine eyes." 

The train has successfully climbed its way on a 
shelving side of highland and with an abrupt turn 
in the road are disclosed to view three goodly-sized 
mountains arranged in a semi-circle. Half way up the 
valley between two of them there comes seemingly 
from out of the sky, a torrent of water that breaks 
and leaps over rocks in feathery foam and glides 
away in a laughing turbulent stream from the base 
of the hills. 

Only a glance — too brief — but it has caused ex- 
clamations from my fellow passengers and has 
whetted our optical appetites for what we may 
expect to follow. Chairs are being whisked about 
the observation car into advantageous positions and 
we are settling ourselves for a kaleidoscopic glimpse 
of the "promised land." 



"To hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature. 



i8 

New beauties are now being disclosed to our 
view. All the glories we have feasted upon in the 
shape of trees, streams and under growth now find 
a substantial background in frowning hills covered 
solidly with vegetation. The train winds in and 
out as though picking its way around these seem- 
ingly insurmountable barriers while graceful turns 
in the road give us occasional peeps at our Mogul 
engine, climbing with measured stroke an elevation 
of io6 feet to the mile. 

We reach a " breathing spot " and find here the 
marked encroachment of modem civilization in the 
form of a summer colony comfortably housed in 
white, standing out prominently against the green 
of the hills and the blue of the sky. 

Now our stops are frequent and we see expectant 
faces on platforms waiting the arrival of new re- 
cruits, or the letters so anxiously wished for from 
those left behind. Larger and more imposing grow 
the mountains, until all trace of woodland beauty is 
temporarily lost in the rugged grandeur of the vast 
piles, whose sides, covered with dense forests, look 
in the distance like a green network of garden 
shrubbery. 




'9 

On we have gone and higher we have climbed 
until now we are approaching the only apparent 
entrance through this range of mountains that 
nature provided for railroads and modern civiliza- 
tion. 

A colossal tooth has bitten a piece out of the 
mountain and encroaching man has usurped the 
cavity and called it Crawford Notch, while the 
Maine Central finds it the means of railroad con- 
nection between Boston and Portland of the States 
and Montreal and Quebec of the Dominion. 

The railroad skirts the mountain range on one 
side of a deep gorge, the road bed being built on 
a shelving rock, blasted and leveled on the mountain 
side, with here and there a span of trestle-work that 
apparently suspends us between heaven and earth. 

Across the valley tower the mountains that are 
the commencement — the foot hills so to speak — of 
the famous Presidential Range. 

Now everything is tense with the excitement of 
the moment. Our train winds around curves while 
an occasional whistle or slowing up marks the im- 
portance of our undertaking. Ahead of our own 
gigantic steed there runs a funny little engine— all 



' But on and up where nature's heart, 
Beats strong among the hills." 



alone, to pilot the way and inform us if any new 
dangers in the shape of a falling rock or loosening 
earth have set a trap since the last trip. On it runs, 
disappearing for a moment around a ledge of rock, 
then a halt and whistle, to signal us that the way is 
clear, as though saying. "Come on ! All's well ! 
'Tis I who will guide you in safety through the 
mountain pass and into the land beyond where God 
reigns and man wonders." 




c/lugust How can I draw an adequate word 

c^neteenth picture of the location of "The Mt. 
Washington " that has proffered to 
me its hospitality for one week ? 

Imagine a colossal circular theatre, whose par- 
quette floor is six miles across (and does not seem 
three as distances are deceptive here), carpeted in 
glossy green grass, through which winds in and 
out the Ammonoosuc River. Whose amphitheatre 
seats are towering tree-covered mountains making 
a complete enclosure. Whose roof is the vast dome 
of heaven. Whose decorations thereon are the ever 
changing clouds, painted by the hand of Omnipo- 
tence, and you have some faint idea of its propor- 
tions. 

Then imagine for a stage, a plateau set up from 
the valley against one of these mountains, and you 
have the location of the Mt. Washington Hotel, 
newly opened, and the wonder of the world as a 
summer hotel. It is not likely that it has an equal 
anywhere in point of magnificence. 

When one views the scope of its conception, in- 
volving an expenditure of three millions, all for the 
luxurious comfort of a possible four months of 
summer hegira, it would seem as though philan- 
thropy and love for mankind, rather than visions 



of dividends, prompted the builder to such enormous 
expenditure. Let those who know him judge which 
impulse prompted the man, who is Jos. Stickney 
of New York, a coal magnate reputed to be worth 
thirty-five millions. 

I shall not, however, vex me with speculations 
on the " whys and wherefores " of hostelry making. 
I am here for one week of solid comfort and solitary 
enjoyment, the spectator of other's pleasures in 
and about the hotel, while mine shall be found in the 
fastnesses of the woods "whereof man knoweth 
not." 

Shut away from the world, in lieu of news- 
papers, I shall attempt to read the messages which 
nature vouchsafes to mankind in the trees, flowers, 
the hills and rocks, the mosses and ferns and mountain 
streams. I shall hope to catch the note of gladness 
from the throat of the forest birds and transfer it to 
my own soul ; to see the sturdy growths of stately 
pines, and grow with them ; to look upon the ever- 
lasting hills and receive strength therefrom. Thus 
to emerge with kindlier feeling for my neighbor, 
with less of the vindictive and more of the gentle 
in my nature, with a resolution to do my duty in 
whatever path it lies and with greater faith in God 
Almighty. 




23 

(A Picture ni The sun has gone behind the moun- 
Sunsei tains and with characteristic sud- 

denness a chill creeps through the 
air. High over the valleys, higher even than some of 
the clouds, there has been soaring a huge solitary 
bird whose occasional balancing of wings has caught 
and reflected the sun's rays from its glossy plumage. 
Now it circles about several times as though 
saying an adieu to the earth below, and directs its 
course toward yonder mountain peak whose frown- 
ing crest catches the reflection from the sunset 
clouds, while its slopes are already in the grey 
shadows of evening. 

At such an hour the heart too takes flight for 
home — if any home it have. 

Home ! what a matchless thrall hovers over that 
word. But let me not dwell on this, except to say 
that there is probably no other word in the lan- 
guages of all nations over which have been shed so 
many bitter tears. 

At this elevation the world lives while the sun 
shines. The chill of night drives people to the wel- 
come warmth and cheerful blaze of the birch logs 
that snap and crackle on the hearths of the huge open 
fire places. 




24 

Though a glorious moon and myriads of stars 
have done their best to allure us into the night, 
the charm seems only momentary, as back to our 
fires we go. Thus am I reminded of the words 
which have had numerous settings in song. 

" The night has a thousand eyes, 

And the day but one, 
Yet the light of the whole world dies 

With the setting sun." 

And though irrelevant to the word picture, I 
cannot resist the temptation to repeat the companion 
verse for the sake of its exquisite thought and subtle 
expression. 

" The mind has a thousand eyes, 

And the heart but one. 
Yet the Hght of a whole life dies. 

When love is done." 



' Only let me sit 

The grey remainder of the evening out, 
Idle, you call it, and muse perfectly. 
How I could paint were I '' — 



25 

To A Mysterious, immutable, awful ! 

SMoaniain Thou standest in all the grandeur 

and glory that made thee as thou 

art when He spake, and thou reared thy crest toward 

the skies to be, through countless ages, a silent, 

awe-inspiring specimen of His handwork. 

What carest thou for the sorrow and tears, the 
joy and laughter, the strife and vexations that fill 
the world which is thy footstool ? 

Thou mayest see all that passeth beneath thee, 
but thou makest no sign. 

Or, is thy mantle of snow which melts and feeds 
the streams of our valleys, after all, tears on thy 
cheek, cold, until touched by the sun — which is Him 
— causing them to flow freely to the earth below that 
we may drink and live — and know ? 

Thou art ever in touch and sympathy with the 
Divine Plan. Thy brow reflects the first beam of 
the morning sun and thou'rt the last to bid it good- 
night, ere it fades to mark the passing of another 
day. 

Now comes the moon, cold and pale, and verily, 
thou art mysterious, forbidding, terrible — and yet 
njost wonderful as the secrets of the night are 
exchanged. 




26 

What tales do the clouds whisper to thee as they 
drift past thine ear, rising on the wings of the wind 
from the world below ? 

And dost thou welcome the coming of thy news- 
bearer ? Alas ! we are given no chance to see as 
thou hidest thy face in the bosom of thy messenger 
while thou hearest the story. 

The lightnings from heaven play round thy 
brow, yet thou heedest them not more than we the 
flash of a fire-fly in the dusk of evening. 

So old art thou that mighty forests have covered 
thy sides which thou carest not for except that the 
winds use them as harp-strings to make night music 
for thee in thy silent musing over dark and terrible 
secrets. 

Man has thought to penetrate thy knowledge, 
to look more closely upon thy face, to read what 
thou knowest, and so has builded steps up thy 
mighty frame, but only to meet defeat. 

Thy lips are tightly set, thine eyes betoken no 
friendly sign, thy brow is cold and damp as the hand 
of death. He shudders as he turns from thee to re- 
trace his steps. 

We may wish, but we may not hope to know 



' ' Tongue nor heart 

cannot conceive nor name thee." 



thy secrets. We may 
silence, but we cannot 
Truly thou art the 
work of Omnipotence, 
lips secrets which thou 
well-appointed time, 
look and wonder — and 



27 
gaze on thee in worshipful 
penetrate thy fastness, 
everlasting, never-changing 
who hath sealed within thy 
mayhap will tell to us in His 
It is only given us now to 
worship. 




28 



Her Letter 

' ' The faint sweet f ragfrance of a cigarette. 
The cold grey ashes, not yet cast away — 

And this is all he left behind to show 
That he was with us only yesterday. 

Ah no ! not all — for he has left beside, 
The echo of sweet melody and song — 

The thought — he is our very friend indeed. 

The mem'ry of a hand-clasp warm and strong. 




29 



The Ans<wer 

From the ashes of that cigarette, 
Let Phoenix-like, rise thought, 

To mold and build and, better yet — 
To crown a friendship richly fraught. 

Ourselves the pillars of an arch, 

Our minds to give it grace. 
Our hearts to cement as we march 

To lay the building stones in place. 

Until at last the top we crown 
With faith, the cap-stone sure. 

Then take the builder's structure down, 
And find our friendship-arch secure. 



3° 

My first impression of this grand 
cMt. Washington old pile was one of disappointment, 
as I had expected to find a detached 
mass of earth and rock, rising in a more or less 
irregular geological formation until its crest dis- 
appeared in the blue vault of heaven's dome. So it 
was well for me to pass some days gazing on it 
from over these valleys, learning it aright before 
deciding on a day to make the ascent. 

During this time it has been newly-impressed 
on my mind through the means of seeing and has 
really grown in point of magnitude while I have 
looked and wondered. 

For five days I have beheld the sunsets, the 
sun-rises and their beautiful tintings. I have seen 
it enveloped in clouds of every description, and I 
have seen it when the crest stood boldly out against 
the sky with the flash of sun-light thereon, disclosing 
to the eye, the grey-jjainted buildings on its sum- 
mit. The rains and low-drifting clouds of the past 
two days did not promise well for a sunrise which 
is considered the glory of this mountain, but as the 
valleys below had settled to a normal condition 
and my days here were few, I decided to make the 
trip, remaining over night. 




At 4:300^1" train started, skirting the base of 
these ranges, affording us some exquisite glimpses 
of woods and streams and water leaping over rocks 
as it came down the mountain slopes. 

Soon we were landed at the base of Mt. Wash- 
ington and without delay our climb began up the 
cogwheel railroad that is an engineering marvel. 
Seated on the front platform of the observation car, 
our feet swinging therefrom, we were soon made to 
feel the change in atmosphere as the chill penetra- 
ted to our ankles through summer hosiery, and we 
found it more pleasant to sit Japanese fashion, 
tucking our feet under overcoats. 

I say "we " here, not editorially, but advisedly, 
for on starting, I fell into conversation with a gentle- 
man who looked as lonely as I felt, and he proved 
an agreeable companion on this trip. Being a young 
civil engineer from New York, he contributed much 
to the interest of the trip. 

When two thirds of the way up oiir worst fears 
were confirmed and we were shut off from any view 
up or down or over, by dense clouds and the balance 
of the trip was made amid grumblings from the 
passengers, we having fotmd it decidedly more 



" I love you because you love the things that I l<n-e. 



32 

comfortable to go inside the car. On reaching the 
summit we were chilled through and both of us 
having declared that, were our physicians here, 
something warm taken internally would be pre- 
scribed, we presupposed this advice and sought 
" the place." 

Where will modem civilization not encroach ? 
On top of this barren mountain we found a comfort- 
able hotel, "The Summit House" whose good 
food, roaring fires and warm beds made us forget 
the winter's chill of this August night. 

After a pleasant evening with Mr. Burt, editor 
of "Among the Clouds," a breezy paper printed up 
there, we said good night and sought our rooms 
rather depressed in spirits over the poor prospect of 
a sun on the morrow. We were told that in the 
event of a simrise, a bell would be rung through 
the corridors, so with a hope that would not crush, 
I went to sleep to await the bell with its ominous 
portent. 

At 4 130 I awakened and looked from my window, 
only to see the densest heaviest wet clouds being 
driven rapidly past by a furious wind. Now my 
hopes sank lower than the mercury, which I learned 




33 

later was 35 degrees, for was it not already the hour 
for the sun to appear ? 

Almost while I was thinking, there came a rift 
in the clouds disclosing blue sky above and heavy, 
lazy clouds in the valleys below. Then came an- 
other rush of clouds, but I was hopeful and so 
hurried to the bed to envelop myself in blankets, at 
the same time knocking on the wall to warn my 
friend in the next room. 

We reached our windows simultaneously and 
popped our heads out, resembling two Esquimaux, 
but timely to see the clouds roll away revealing 
miles on miles of mountain tops, while there hung 
in the valleys oceans of billowy, soapy clouds, white, 
with enough smoke hue to give them outline, and 
far away, beyond everything, there was the horizon, 
the limit of vision, up from which darted several 
rays of light — messengers to announce the King of 
Day. 

Just then the bell rang its message of good 
luck and every where there was immediate excite- 
ment. A moment more of tense anxiety lest an- 
other sweep of clouds would rob us of our view at 
this supreme time — then as though literally pushed 



*' And those that paint them truest praise them most." 



34 
up from "somewhere" by a giant scene-shifter, 
there appeared a goodly edge of red. Motionless it 
seemed to remain for a moment when another 
apparent thrust disclosed a huge blood-red disk, 
its lower edge touching the horizon-line, pulseless, 
as though awaiting the breath of life. 

Suddenly stray flashes of light stole out to meet 
the eye, a gleam here and there over the mountain 
tops and finally a burst of glorious light, bathing 
the whole landscape in wonderful coloring, and the 
supreme moment was passed — we had witnessed the 
birth of a Day. 

But long I sat at my window drinking in the 
wonders of this glorious panorama of mountain- 
ranges, valleys, lakes and rivers. All the world 
below me. Words cannot describe the feeling of 
awe at being above it all, above the clouds even, 
with nothing between me and heaven. 

Shall I here confess a momentary weakness ? 
'Twas a desire to stretch forth my arms and call the 
name — Mother. It seemed such a little way — as 
though she might have just reached down and clasped 
her hand in mine. And then I remembered — 




35 
" We may not sunder the veil apart, 
That hides from our vision the ' Gates of Day,' 
And yet I know on that unseen shore, 
She watches and beckons and waits — alway." 

The descent was begun at eight, after breakfast 
and an hour for the feast of vision. All the beauties 
we had missed the night before were ours now in 
ample measure. In an hour and fifteen minutes we 
were at the base where summer still held sway and 
it being a morning of glorious sunshine in the 
valleys, I said good-bye to my companion of the trip, 
emerged from my top coat and gloves, and made my 
way back to the hotel on foot over a five mile trail 
of as beautiful woodland scenery as heart could 
wish for, reaching home in time for luncheon, for 
which I was quite ready. 




36 



' ' Shame ! that a man with hand and brain 
Should, like a love-lorn girl complain, 

Rhyming his dainty woes anew. 
When there is honest work to do !" 




37 
Bubbles 
LIFE is a bubble the world, cannot stay, 

Though great seems earth's undertaking. 
It sparkles, allures, and then melts away, 
And we sleep till the great awaking. 

LOVE is a bubble that lives for a day, 

And we sigh in the pain of our bhss, 
Till, lo ! it has burst — the devil we pay 

With a heart-break oft-times for a kiss. 

JOY is a bubble, it never can last. 

To-day's sun has its cloud on the morrow. 

We grasp at our pleasures to find they are past, 
And the cup from our feast fills with sorrow. 

And SORROWS are bubbles, the world and its troubles 

Will vanish — 'tis Nature's provision. 
Should we stop to consider, our heart-ache but doubles. 

So we choke down our tears in derision. 

Not till life is for loving, by love shall we live, 
And our joys that are chastened by sorrow. 

Will seem all the sweeter, as through them 'twill give 
Fresh hope and new strength for to-morrow. 

Not till sorrows have come and joys seem done, 

Do we know the true worth of a day. 
Not till living and loving are merged into one — 

Shall the PERFECT LOVE live alway. 



The earth hath bubbles as the water has. 
And these are of them." 



38 
cAugusi Lake George the exquisite — set 

T<Tventy- seventh like a gem in the foothills of the 
Adirondacks, its crystals sparkling 
in the morning sun — the sky a perfect canopy of 
blue overhead, with fleecy clouds hanging beyond 
the hill tops, whose sides "in verdure clad" slope 
to the water's edge. Sail-boats floating like sea- 
gulls before a stiff breeze, while occasionally there 
darts across the lake an electric launch filled with 
merry-makers. Idlers lounging about in easy 
garden chairs, while there filters throiigh the air 
(the melodies broken by a continual chopping of 
waves on the shore), the overture to William Tell, 
from an orchestra located across the green. 

Such is the picture presented to me as I gaze 
from the spacious grounds of the New Fort William 
Henry Hotel. 

On arrival at Burlington, Vt. , at 5:20 Monday 
evening, a swarthy-visaged man announced in a 
voice that did not evidence pulmonary trouble, 
that a free 'bus was waiting to convey passengers 
to the boat bound for Bluff Point, the site of the 
famous hostelry. Hotel Champlain. So pleasing 
was it to have something free offered tourists, there 




39 

seemed a unanimous desire on the part of every one 
within the sound of his voice to pile headlong into 
his conveyance whether bound Champlain-ward or 
not. 

With those of us whose destination was thither, 
his unusual courtesy found ready acceptance and we 
were whisked to a boat in waiting and soon were 
paddling our way across the lake to Port Kent, the 
landing point for the exploration of nature's wonder — 
Au Sable Chasm. While crossing the lake another 
day's sun bade us farewell, hanging for a last 
moment in a cloud-streaked horizon, then disappear- 
ing, a huge ball of fire behind the hills, reflecting 
its prismatic colorings on the water and the slopes 
of the Green Mountains of Vermont. 

Our next stop was at Bluff Point, a projection 
into the lake, heavy with trees and shrubbery, 
through which winds a road that leads to the top 
where stands the superb Hotel Champlain, re- 
quiring two frontages, for one side commands a 
view of the lake and the Green mountains, while on 
the other the Adirondacks stand out boldly against 
the sky. 



The heaven's breath smells wooingly here. 



40 

Dinner over, and a chat the while with a gentle- 
man whose travels were so extensive as to make me 
feel that as a traveler I had really not yet been 
bom, I wandered toward the piazza to find a 
drenching down-pour of rain. A survey of the 
hotel followed and a further visit with my globe- 
trotter, some music, then to bed with a call for 5 130 
providing the morning was clear. 

A lapse of hours in refreshing sleep, until an 
ominous knocking on my door told me the day 
promised well and I arose to find, on raising the 
shades, a good morning from "Mr. Sun." Then at 
such an hour to feel that in the interests of self 
preservation one must eat. But such is the penalty 
a tourist must pay. and that formality having been 
quickly dispatched, time was given for a morning 
stroll down to the dock. 

Timely, at seven, came the steamer ''Vermont" 
and we were away for a day's sail with a cold, im- 
comfortably cold, wind blowing into our faces, and 
an occasional splash of rain from some tardy edge 
of cloud that had not climbed over the mountain- 
tops, ere the sun came to take command of the day. 

Lake Champlain is beautiful but is too wide to 



" This morning, like the spirit of a youth 

That means to be of note, begins betimes.'" 



41 

give an intimate acquaintance with its shores, and 
the foot-hills of the mountains on both sides seemed 
hung in a grey mist, that detracted somewhat, 
robbing the peaks of the sharp contour against the 
sky that pictures so pleasurably to the eye. 

Numerous landings were made with a neatness 
and dispatch that proved a pleasant contrast to our 
clumsy docking of sea-going vessels where tide is 
to contend with. 

Thus the hours sped on, and our mincing ap- 
petites at breakfast were punished in a ravenous 
hunger for dinner, every one scurrying at the 
familiar sound of the gong. On coming to deck again 
we found the ruins of old Fort Ticonderoga before 
our eyes and shortly after we were landed and 
transferred by train over a four mile neck of land 
to the steamer "Sagamore" on Lake George. 

We had only to start to have disclosed to view 
the exquisite scenery of this beautiful " Geneva of 
America." Coming from the rugged grandeur of 
the New Hampshire mountains, this passing pano- 
rama seemed so finely conceived and exquisitely 
wrought out that its beauty did not lose in the 
comparison. Each conception of the Omnipotent 




42 

is so radically different that we may gaze on one 
withotit detriment to the recollections of the other. 

An irregular stretch of thirty odd miles — 
narrow so that the beauty of both shores is always 
to be had, hills and sky beyond and above, with 
densely covered slopes in so many shades of green 
that one is led to wonder when green is really 
green. 

Numerous small islands throughout the course, 
heavily wooded and owned by the State, but in 
many instances leased to cottagers who have built 
bungalows thereon and assisted nature in lands- 
cape adornment. 

Everywhere, seemingly, along the shores, are 
summer cottages nestling cozily among the trees, 
and the many landings of boats and the familiar 
salutations from shore to passengers, give the im- 
pression that all this shore-line represents one vast 
summer family. 

As we progressed in miles and hours, the wind 
slackened and the sun's rays increased, so that, 
our journey ended at 4:30 P. M., found one pas- 
senger lobster-hued and tired out. A hot bath and 
something one gets when he turns the dial of the 




43 
register past "ice water" and rings, restored him 
to normal and a refreshing night of sleep, with 
weather conditions most charmingly cool for 
August, puts him at peace with his neighbor and 
in anticipatory mood for the remaining days of 
respite from the sordid world as we are forced to 
know it for fifty long weeks of the year. 




Por, don't you mark, we're made so that we love 
First when we see them painted, things we have passed 
Perhaps a hundred times, nor cared to see." 



44 



Lines to 

An American Girl 

on her iniiiat trip abroad. 



L.ofC. 



[ r'--r 



45 



Sing ho ! for the land of Parisian dreams, 
Then to soft summer skies you'll be turning. 

And then gay Monte Carlo, whose gambling it seems. 
We Yankee-born e'er would be learning. 

From Venetian skies to a king on his throne, 

Is a far cry, a tax on geography, 
But our American girls— God bless 'em— now own 

Half their kingdom, have e'en changed its orthography. 

But let their good king possess his one-half, 

Let France make its bed with her own. 
Let Venice dream on ; give the gamblers a laugh ! 

Turn your face toward the West and come home. 

Come back to the Land of the Brave and the Free! 

And when your heart sighs for its mating. 
Remember the Eagle keeps watch over thee. 

And the strong arm of Freedom is waiting. 




46 
(August My day's diversion has been a sail 

Tiventy-ninth on the small lake-steamer "Mohi- 
can " to Green Island, the site of 
the beautiful Sagamore Hotel. Yet is it so beauti- 
ful or must we give most credit to nature in sup- 
plying such an ideal location ? Certainly the com- 
bination is remarkably attractive. 

The Island is well named, sloping from the 
water's edge at a graceful elevation and at the 
center stands the Sagamore, built in low shambling 
lines on the plan of the Swiss villas, low porches, 
dove-cote windows and queer projections every 
where but quite in keeping with nature's plan of 
the island. 

Tall stately trees, trimmed high so as to give 
delightful views of the lake, supply a generous 
shade and the grass is so green and so short cropped, 
one can scarcely resist the abandon to childish 
capers and roll over and over down the hill. 
But since only yesterday I planted another mile- 
stone on my life's pilgrimage, I am too dignified 
to-day to think of childish things and so just lounge 
on the grass to dream and think, and write these 
impressions. 




47 

All nature seems to be in such perfect harmony 
here with her vistas of water and islands and moun- 
tains, of green grass and gently swaying foliage in 
the tree tops, the ground so warm, and from the 
grass a sweet fragrance of growing green, then 
filtering over and through all the glorious sunlight, 
I cannot think that June alone can lay claim to 
Lowell's beautiful lines. 

" And what is so rare as a day in June ? 

Then, if ever, come perfect days, 
Then the sun tries the earth if it be in tune, 

And over it softly her warm ear lays." 




" Where the quiet-colored end of evening smiles. 



48 

Saratoga Presto ! con moto ; tempo vivace ! ! 
August From the quiet of the hills, from 

Thirtieth the fragrance of pines, from the 
lazy rocking of boats on the placid 
bosom of the lake, from the adagio theme that has 
sung through the recent days of my travels — the 
scene suddenly changes to one of gaiety, to mam- 
moth hotels filled with fashionably dressed men and 
women, to streets broad and long — a moving pano- 
rama of splendid equipages drawn by proud and 
prancing horses, with here and there an automobile 
threading through the crowd — as my vacation 
sonata announces its finale in presto time. 

Such is Saratoga and I am to Sunday at the 
Grand Union. 

What need to record a word about this Monte 
Carlo of America ? Nothing new offers here to bid 
us open our eyes in wonder and delight. 

In truth it seems much like a section of New 
York's well-known parade ground brought to this 
part of the world where our jaded birds of fine 
feather may seek Nepenthe in the springs without 
loosening hold on the taut strings of society. 

Here, as in all fashionable places, milady rubs 



' ' The song we hear with our ears is only 
the song that is sung in our hearts." 



49 
elbow with "Miss Peroxide" and each covets the 
other's gown, if not her code of ethics. 

Money that makes class distinctions possible at 
home seems to serve here as the great leveler, as 
each man is as good as his neighbor, so long as the 
light of his purse holds out to burn. 

The racing-season is ended, the most profitable 
in its history, I am told, but society lingers yet a 
little while to lend itself to the Floral Fete that 
opens with a sumptuous ball and banquet on Mon- 
day evening. 

Victor Herbert, whose music is as voluptuous 
as he is corpulent, waves the baton over his com- 
pany of players on the hotel piazza and we are car- 
ried, through the senses, to memories of symphony 
concerts, song recitals, summer evenings on roof- 
gardens, or quiet after-theatre suppers, for his 
programs are as cosmopolitan as his hearers. 

My most exciting pastime will be a drive on the 
morrow, as the weather promises well, even though 
the mercury is creeping up to a point where com- 
fort is not to be found where'er man chooses to 
wander, as has been my previous good fortune on 
this trip. Now for dinner and a later hour with 
music ! 




5° 

Labor Day My fortnight of rest and recreation 

6*30 p, m. is ticking away its last hours. 

Passage is purchased for New 

York, hand-luggage deposited in stateroom No. 

358 of the beautiful steamer "Adirondack," while, 

shaven and shorn, I await at Albany's boasted 

hostelry — The Ten Eyck — the arrival of my good 

friend and chum, Fred H, who has promised to end 

his holiday here and accompany me down the 

Hudson. 

Dinner has been ordered to have no loss of 
time as he arrives at seven and our boat is scheduled 
to depart at eight. 

In the twilight of the day and of my vacation, 
in the space between scenes past and comradeship 
to come, I sit here in a half hour of retrospect and 
write these final lines, for to-morrow will bring its 
resumption of duties and the spell will be broken. 

I close my eyes for a moment in reverie and 
seem to see a drifting composite picture of ocean 
and shore, of mountains and valleys and streams, 
of foothills and placid lakes, of rocks and pines and 
ferns, of moonlight and glorious sunlight — for have 
not weather conditions been nigh to perfect — only 



There is nothing so good as the sun and the 

wind for driving the foolishness out of one." 



51 
two days of rain — and I seem to realize all the more 
how thorough has been my comfort, benefit and 
enjoyment, now that I am about to turn away from 
it all. 

But I have lived these days and I carry home 
with me, I hope, sufficient of the glories of nature 
to give strength and courage for the year's duties. 
And so with a last lingering word of gratitude to a 
Divine Providence and appreciation for the tout 
ensemble of a splendid outing, I write these lines 
and say with Tosti — 

Good bye to summer ! 
Good bye. 

Good bye — 




